


Sentiment and Mortality

by GammaRays



Series: Sentiment and Understanding [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adult Ciel Phantomhive, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Melancholy, POV Sebastian, Sads all around, because who would i be without it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 23:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14841428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GammaRays/pseuds/GammaRays
Summary: (Set in the storyline of my 'Sentiment and Understanding' fic; consider reading Notes first)Sebastian muses on the changes to his and his Master's relationship over the years. Ciel, recovering from a recent asthma attack, contemplates his own mortality and rapidly approaching death.





	Sentiment and Mortality

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, I couldn't leave the 'Sentiment and Understanding' storyline alone, I had to write more. I decided to make this into a series, and this and any following works in this will be something like 'missing scenes'. Just so that I can write more feels for my own needs. So, this is set close to the end of the SaU timeline, when Ciel and Sebastian settle back in England and open a doll shop, and Ciel's health is deteriorating severely because of his asthma. I guess that's roughly enough of an explanation for those who didn't read SaU? ^^' Anyway, hope you enjoy the tiny feels trip.
> 
> Music: [ ZnT - Fugl ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_X4eZsLSos)  
> Come say hi on [ tumblr ](http://fishnatu.tumblr.com/), if you'd like, that would be awesome ^^

The most recent asthma attack left my Lord’s work desk a mess; the coughing and breathlessness that shook his frail body tore him away from his carvings and made him scatter his tools everywhere in his frenzied panic. Between tending to him, putting him to bed for some rest, and cooking, it was only in the late afternoon that I had the chance to put it all back in order.

Sun’s last rays filled the room this time of the day with orange and golden hues, making the dust particles shine pleasantly – though these were surely not beneficial for his health. The light mist of dirt was always there, no matter how much I cleaned; it was bound to be, considering sandpaper was one of his favourite tools for finishing touches. He wouldn’t give it up.

The tools clanked and tapped against each other and the wooden surfaces as I plucked them from the desk and floor and put them in their containers; they made a quiet, tuneless music that I found myself having grown fond of; it filled the upstairs regularly when Master worked, after all. Wiping the desk, I tried very hard to ignore the almost microscopic droplets of blood splattered there; a result of blade slipping during work, or his coughing. Naturally, I wished for it to be the former, but knowing that none of his injuries went unnoticed by me, it must have been the latter. I knew it, of course; I knew he was dying. But I couldn’t help but hate every small thing that reminded me of his rapidly approaching demise.

The block of wood he was working on sat lonely and abandoned with the distinct general shape of a human head and shoulders, but as I turned it this way and that, there was nothing more specific yet. Perhaps it would be another creation without a mouth or featuring bleeding eyeless sockets. If I were honest with myself, I had to admit I was mildly curious about what warped nightmares this agonised human would carve next.

He made a small wooden crate for his figures in progress; a crooked, imperfect little thing that stood in the corner of the room on the floor but which did its job. Currently, it held three other pieces. Being just about to put the most recent work with the rest without a second thought, my hand faltered and froze. One piece in the crate seemed finished – but it wasn’t the questionable organisation that had me so shaken.

There, in that wooden box, I saw myself.

It was a piece I’ve never seen before; this in itself was strange. It wasn’t very large; as I held it, it just about fit into both of my hands. Turning it this way and that, I furrowed my brow, wondering if perhaps the resemblance was unintentional, if perhaps it was meant to be someone else, or no one in particular. But no, there was no mistaking it – it was, without a doubt, a splendidly-carved bust of myself.

It wasn’t vanity that made it hard for me to look away from the little wooden treasure; it’s the sheer amount of effort undeniably put into the piece. It was realistic to an almost eerie degree; the high cheekbones were sanded to perfect smoothness, as almost the rest of the skin. Almost. However, mysteriously, the tiny spots of grainy imperfections near my nose and on my forehead close to the hairline made the whole work look more… pleasant and realistic, perhaps? Oddly, ironically. My hair was carved into orderly smooth strands with gentle incisions, but more so on the left side than the right; maybe that was the part that was unfinished. With something possibly like wonder I first ran my fingers through my thin eyebrows, slightly raised in a calm expression, carved ever so gently to indicate the small hair as much as possible. But the mouth was most spectacular of all features on that small wooden replica of my face. Neither smiling nor frowning. Tranquil, relaxed. All smooth and flowing curves. Even those most minute wrinkles and ridges characteristic to human lips were gently cut in. And yet, the thing of greatest significance was my attire – the suit I wore as his butler.

Though by this stage I had acknowledged that I’m capable of experiencing – but not _understanding_ –  some emotions, at that moment I was even more confused that I felt something _now_ ; merely by looking at a piece of wood. I didn’t know _what_ they were; what I did know, was that the Phantomhive butler pin – carved with incredible detail – drew my eyes back towards itself whenever my gaze wandered around other features of the piece. What should I make of this? I knew that our relationship and impressions of each other changed continuously and dramatically as time went on. Back then, he saw me as a self-indulgent monstrosity that would devour him the moment he stepped out of line in terms of the contract. And that’s what I was. But I knew his opinion must have changed; I haven’t claimed his soul yet, after all, despite his breach of contract. Undoubtedly, what I was _now_ brought him less anguish than the sneering demon I was before. And yet, despite that, after so many years, was the butler from those times what he still saw me as? Did he still hate me, fear me, regret me, as he did back then? Or was I simply reading too much into it? My little master remained a vexing mystery, as always.

Managing to tear my eyes away from the pin for a moment, I stared into my own colourless eyes; devoid of irises and pupils, and yet not empty. But this was the human gift, wasn’t it? The _soul_. I could recreate this piece of work exactly, flawlessly, with an even smoother polish than the original, despite never having a carving tool in my hand before. I could make it perfect. But hollow. It was the human soul that created art; the hands were only tools trained over years. And I, a soulless creature, could only hunt and feed on those brief bright specks of light, but never have one of my own.

I shook my head foolishly, as if that could rid me of the thoughts tumbling through that human brain I’ve made for myself. How silly of me to indulge in such pointless, romanticised musings. What did this child turn me into…

No matter. None of this matters. Putting the wooden piece back in the exact same spot in the crate, I resolved myself to simply silently await him finishing and painting it, and at the very least just admiring it as a good work of art – nothing more.

Dark cold evening was approaching fast by the time I made my way back to the bedroom. My master was still in bed, reclining against the headboard with a book in his hands, just as I had left him; but looking less pale than he did before. Still, he looked so small and vulnerable like that, in those striped pyjamas; every bit the young child that I made the contract with, and not the nearly forty-year old man he really was.

‘How are you feeling, young master?’

‘Will you _ever stop_.’ He sighed without any real malice. ‘Coughing like an old man and passing out, debilitated and in bed. Hardly young, you know. I’m older than your human form now.’

‘We’ve been through this so many times. But do keep indulging me, Lord; you know how fond I am of calling you so.’ A smile crept on my lips as I sat on the edge of the bed by him. ‘Would you like a light supper, or some tea?’

Gloomy aura started slowly settling over him as he looked away, idly curling the corner of the current book page. I observed him like a hawk. ‘No, ‘m not hungry.’

I frowned at his murmur. ‘You really should eat something.’

‘I said I’m not hungry- What’s it matter, anyway.’ He continued to mumble. The gloom continued to engulf him.

‘What do you mean, lordling?’

He laughed softly, but it sounded bitter. ‘I’m just a dead man walking. Hah, barely even walking. More like crawling.’

I didn’t know what to tell him. His deteriorating health was often a source of sorrow for him, I knew, even if he didn’t want to talk much about it. It was another while of silence before he spoke again.

‘I’m so… I’m scared, Sebastian. I’m… scared of dying.’

Now that surprised me. I looked up, wide-eyed to meet his own fearful gaze. His eyes were like two pieces of glass; shining, wet, fragile, and completely see-through windows to the swirling mist of grief in his soul. For a moment, I was speechless. He knew it; he always knew that his illness made his body fall apart faster than those of others. He lived all his life at death’s door; not only because of his disease, but also because of the sin hanging over his shoulder. I was sure that there wasn’t a single day where the thought of death hasn’t crossed his mind at least once. I knew he welcomed each new year in wonder and surprise that he was still walking this earth. And yet, _and yet_ , he never admitted he was scared. Was he lying to himself, or did he just hide it so well from me?

My hand drifted to his face, caressing his cheek with my knuckles in a feather-like touch. Why was this useless lump of muscle in my chest clenching so unpleasantly behind my ribs?

‘What is it that you’re so scared of, little one? Pain?’

The _man_ leaned into my touch slightly. ‘N-no. I suppose I’m way past the stage of being fearful of pain.’

'Do you have regrets then, Lord?’

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. ‘It would be heresy. I’ve lived for far longer than I was entitled to.’

‘Then do tell me; what exactly has brought so much anguish to your mind now?’

For another long while, he was silent. As if he didn’t actually know the answer himself; as if he didn’t understand the woes of his own heart. ‘I’m terrified of just… of just ceasing to exist. Becoming less than _nothing_. Not experiencing, not seeing the world change.’

‘ _Ah_.’ I brushed away the strands from his forehead, looking softly into those big mismatching eyes of his. ‘That endearing human curiosity. Inquisitive of more than the mind can comprehend. Desperate to know more than they should…’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

I let my hand settle back on my lap before I spoke slowly. ‘I’m not thousands-years old, my Lord. I haven’t been there at the dawn of humanity. I’m not an expert. But over those years that I _have_ existed and watched you and learned about you through the texts you have all left behind, I have learned two main lessons about this organic, decaying realm. Namely, that history repeats itself, and that humans never learn anything from it.’

‘Where… are you going with this?’

‘My point is that humans don’t learn from their mistakes. You think you’re all so much more civilised now, but you’re still the same animals who hunt and kill each other for their own gain without considering the long-term consequences. The only difference in the future will be the new methods you’ll surely develop to just enslave and kill each other more efficiently. Your kind has been moving steadily towards destruction since its birth, and the human pride and greed will be mankind’s own undoing. It will not be pretty, my Lord. The end of humanity will surely not be a spectacular Biblical rage of nature and elements. It will be a decayed, rotten landscape filled with smoke of corruption and disease of human mind and heart. My kind or others will roam then, fat and full to the brim like rats after the Black Plague, and the men unfortunate enough to be still alive will wail helplessly, envious of those who died in peace before them. Your kind will certainly make great discoveries in the future, the world as you know it will change dramatically, but ultimately, is it all worth so much of your sorrow? I do not think so, young Master. Have you not witnessed _and experienced_ enough suffering, little one?’

Minutes passed. Silence. Silence. Only puzzled eyes flicking between staring into nothingness and my own ones.

‘I…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I must be out of my mind and delirious with illness to actually- to actually consider this madman talk.’ A breathless laughter escaped his lips.

I didn’t add anything else; I was satisfied that he didn’t outright reject those ideas – now he just needed time to think it through and decide whether he agreed with them or not. ‘Well then, I shall prepare some tea and a light snack for you.’

As I moved to stand up, the man lurched forward, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, swaying slightly even as he sat. His bony hand clenched tight around the sleeve of my shirt. ‘N-no! Wait!’

Staring at him in surprise, I let myself be dragged to sit back on the pale blue duvet. ‘What is it, young Master?’

He didn’t waste any time in burying his head in my neck, pressing his chest into my own. ‘Don’t go.’

Tentatively, I brought my hands around him in an embrace. I could feel and smell the tension seeping out of his shoulders as I stroked his hair. One thing was certain; today’s attack took a bigger toll on my Master’s mind than it did on his body. ‘I won’t, little one. I won’t.’

As he continued to calm down and _unfurl_ , I stroked my thumb against his cheek, turning his face up towards mine. He followed my lead, calm and docile, until our lips met softly. This was another thing he was reluctant about admitting, but I knew such gentle kisses always comforted him and this time was no different. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, his fingers clenching and unclenching mindlessly in my shirt as I traced his tongue with mine.

And then it ended more quickly than it started. He pushed himself away from me abruptly, turning away just before violent coughs shook his frail frame. It was a horrible sound, and his eyelashes were wet with unshed tears – but all I could do was sit there and passively witness his agony.

The coughing finally subsided, but he didn’t face me until I tilted his head back myself. ‘I- I can’t even _kiss_ you.’ He tried to chuckle, to play it off as if he wasn’t affected by it – _silly little thing_ – but his eyes were overflowing with tears, ready to spill any second.

I ran my thumb across his bottom lip. ‘Kiss me tomorrow, when you feel better.’

And with these words, I unintentionally hit the nail on the head. He broke down. The tears spilled, and his face contorted with silent weeping. It was unsettling, seeing the once proud earl, now an adult man, break down so completely. It made me wonder, once again, just how much sorrow was carried in that single body. Without understanding, I held him in my arms once more, waiting patiently for an explanation.

After a while, he found his voice again. ‘What if I don’t wake up tomorrow?’

And then I understood. Here he was, a weakened, ill, middle-aged man, fearful of falling asleep and not waking up again.

I breathed him in and murmured against his thinning hair. ‘Your body is weakening, Master. But it hasn’t given up just yet. Have no fear; you’ll see the light of day tomorrow.’

Once more, he quietened in my hold, his silent sobs subsiding. The cloud of gloom was replaced by a heavy blanket of exhaustion. He was already sluggish and half-asleep when I helped him lay down under the covers, but he was awake enough to plead in a small voice. ‘Watch over me when I’ll sleep.’ How fitting it was for him to pray to a devil, and not an angel or God, to keep him safe. But I was his just as much as he was mine, and I wouldn’t _think_ of refusing him.

‘As you wish, my Lord.’

By the time I settled atop the duvet beside him, he was already fast asleep, soft and even breaths making his chest rise and fall. I closed my eyes and emptied my mind of anything that wasn’t him, focusing my entire being on his energy, on the smell of his soul to be able to pick up the most minute of changes. But he slept peacefully, and no nightmare plagued him.

The night passed in a blink, and sun rose unobstructed by clouds, warming my face. I didn’t attempt to wake my Master, deciding his body needed all the rest it could get after yesterday’s events. His presence was warm and calm at my side, his soul untroubled; that’s all I focused on, and ended up not noticing him actually awaking from slumber.

What brought me back to reality was a set of warm lips pressed firmly against my own. My eyes snapped open, just in time to catch the sight of my Master leaning back with a wide grin on his face. Puzzlement must have been evident on my face, prompting him to reply to the unasked question. ‘You said to kiss you tomorrow.’

I didn’t smile wide often, but as I saw the man above me bright and joyful at his sleep-restored strength, I found myself unable to not mirror his expression. It was only then that I realised how rarely he smiled these days, too.

I let him kiss me to his heart’s content that morning.

 

 

 

He never had the strength again to paint that wooden carving of me.


End file.
